Slowly Is The Worst Way (at least in this much pain)
by diagonallyfunny
Summary: Titled: The Thoughts of A Dying Man on archiveofourown Angst, so much angst. This is me getting out feelings over this kid, because they're pent up and unhappy. Cry with me *opens arms* Marco is dying and has some thoughts on it (sad thoughts) TW: Major Character Death, Angst, Descriptions of Gore, Depression UPDATE: THIS HAS BEEN FIXED AND IS NO LONGER GLITCHING OUT
Marco Bodt had never wished he was dead so much in his life.

His short life. Honestly, it was incredible he hadn't died when he was first bitten by the titan. When it tore a brutal chunk from his body. He could feel, or rather, couldn't feel the entire left side of his upper body. He could feel the light feeling of air, curling around his split skin and visible organs. It wasn't a pretty sight. He couldn't really see anymore, either. Everything was so very blurry in his last moments.

It was even more amazing, for any outsider, that he hadn't been killed during the 50 foot fall. No, he had just broken both of his legs, his spine, and a few bones in his neck. It was only more pain on the list, and more of a reason to wish for death. He could feel the bones sticking through the taught skin of his back, pulled tight from a mixture of heat and the fact that large sections of it were caught on bones.

The emotional pain was even worse. No one wants to die in betrayal, no one deserves it. Marco did not deserve it. He was going back now, thinking how he should just have shut his mouth. Not said anything. Kept the grim thoughts down until he was at least out of earshot. They didn't even look sorry.

He would have had the courtesy to even fake a sorry expression. Apologize. Give his victim a somewhat heroic death, a death with dignity. Not this. Not being left behind, in hopes he'd die fast.

Marco still couldn't bring himself to hate them, not really. Self-preservation was a brutal thing.

He had always been careful, so careful in life.

It hadn't paid off. In the one moment he was careless…

Marco couldn't help but think 'this is what you get'.

He'd hate to be the one to find his body. Was it even recognizable anymore? The thought ghosted across his mind, but he couldn't bring himself to care about that either. Maybe it was the beginnings of death muddling his mind. Maybe he just didn't have the energy.

Marco let himself wonder, if only for a moment, who would cry at his funeral. If he could've scoffed, he would've. The thought of a personal funeral was far too glorious. He would be burned among the others, remains indistinguishable. He knew he had left an impression on a few, but had he really? The origin of a few smiles here and there, a sprinkle of encouragement every so often, always lifting people up.

He hadn't really gotten it in return, but he hadn't wanted it.

Hadn't needed it.

Jean would notice. Jean would miss him, for a few days at least. If that. They had been close friends, but childhood friendships die regardless. The mark wouldn't be so great. Oh well, he thought. My family will know.

He gave himself another moment to mourn the loss of old age, of the prospect of love, the idea of marrying and growing old deep inside the walls.

Marco wouldn't have chosen that anyway, though. He was going to join the Scouting Legion. Become his own brand of heroic idiocy. All of these things he could've done, would've done, probably should have done.

The things he didn't think of until he was so close to it not mattering anymore. So close, so close to relief. Bliss. He was going to die. Marco Bodt was going to die, alone, and in immense pain, like so many before him.

Well, Eren, I do still wonder what kind of solider you'll be. A good one, I know it. Strong, a leader. I have no doubt. But Jean will lead better I think, and you'll work together. I hope for your sake you both grow up a little and learn not to clash so bad.

But I have faith. In both of you.

He couldn't really keep his eyes open anymore, and there wasn't much to wait for. Nothing to wait for, really.

It was time to let go.

Breath wasn't even trying to fight into his lungs anymore. He muttered a quiet 'goodbye.'

Ineligible. Unheard.

"If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there, does it still make a sound?"

Some things just don't make sense until they have to.

The last thing Marco ever heard were footsteps, approaching at an increasingly rapid pace, and the quiet whisper of 'no' followed by the animalistic scream of his name and a choked sob.

He had left some sort of mark then, however small. Someone cared enough to cry.

He couldn't tell quite who it was.

For the moment, he felt like his funeral was justified, and then the end came, and the blackness welcomed his heavy soul like an old friend.


End file.
